Allison Mack and Me

We were never close friends, and she wouldn’t remember me now. But we moved in the same circles: We were both child actors in L.A. in the late ‘90s and early 2000s, and we both loved to do volunteer work.

We first met at a charity event when I was about ten, and I liked her immediately. She was warm and friendly, with a sincere, winsome smile. I would see her around a few more times after that, but from then on, I mostly saw her on TV. A babysitter once brought over Honey, We Shrunk Ourselves to watch, and I remember being pleased to see Allison playing a girl who stood up to a boy who wanted to kiss her without her consent. When she became a series regular on Smallville, I was genuinely happy for her. Couldn’t happen to a nicer girl, I thought.

I had heard about NXIVM. One former member claimed one of the group’s officials made it seem like a “badass bitch bootcamp,” but forced women to submit sexually to the group’s leader, Keith Raniere, and burn his initials into their bodies. I had not yet heard that Allison was at the center of this. I read more about her connection with the “sex cult”: She was one of Raniere’s favorites; court documents claim that she was blackmailing women into having sex with him, and allegedly she was the one who came up with the idea of branding them. (Mack has pleaded not guilty to all the charges against her.)

At first, I struggled to reconcile my memory of the sweet, smiling girl with the woman who had allegedly abused other women. She had seemed so eager to help others. If she really had done all that, had I just been mistaken? Had I ever really known her?

It was a shock to me. But I knew that even if a person becomes someone who does bad things, it doesn’t necessarily mean they are an intrinsically sadistic person. Maybe they’re caught up in emotions, or they’re trying to prove something to someone, or they’re “just following orders.” If you have a cause you believe in strongly enough, you can justify anything done in the name of that cause.

I also knew something about actors: They make great acolytes.

It’s hard to be an actor and not be spiritual, or to get vulnerable.

Even the most structured, safe, intensive acting schools are filled with crying, massage trains, and some nudity. There’s also a lot of self-reflection; when you’re studying how to be other people, you’re probably also going to have to learn about yourself, as well. You are like a musician, you are your own instrument, your feelings are the strings. Something bad happened in your life? Use it.

Tom Welling and Allison Mack in Smallville

Warner Brothers Television / Courtesy Everett Collection

People also tend to turn to spirituality in times of uncertainty, and there is no career more uncertain than acting. Maybe that faith is something they need to keep them going, to believe that they are truly “#blessed.” (And more than one acting class in the Los Angeles area is sponsored by a controversial religious organization.) You need to have something to believe in.

I was not. They just seemed like tautologies: something about how there were authentic people, who lived authentically, because they were authentic. “One would say authenticity is being as you are,” he says. “When someone’s being authentic, you get the feeling that, not only that there’s a person there in the moment, but somehow you reach into their very essence and you meet a unique individual.”

Maybe I’m just not an authentic person, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. Though I would have found it unsettling even if I hadn’t already known of NXIVM’s actions. Raniere’s word choice was deliberately obscure, and any organization that communicates only in esoteric jargon makes me uncomfortable. There is something sinister to me about using terminology that means something only to one group, which outsiders cannot understand. Language should connect people, not divide them.

But I watched as Allison’s eyes filled with tears, and Raniere asked her why she was getting emotional.

“Because I feel like I want it,” she said. “Authenticity.”

Were hers the tears of a true believer? It sounded like she just wanted to be real.

Film sets are very different places to acting classes. While there’s still a lot of getting vulnerable in front of people, there’s no room for mistakes. No one cares about your self-expression—everything is up to the director and producers. There’s no question why so many actors go on to become directors: They want to be in control for once.

It worked for me when I was very young. I’ve been told I was an obedient child. As I got older, I started to find it tedious, and got frustrated with being told what to do. But I didn’t realize how spoiled I had become—I had the luxury of someone else always being there to tell me what I needed to do at what time. I never needed to think about writing things down, showing up on time, or being dressed the right way for an event.

When I was out of that structured environment, I struggled. I’d been an excellent student when I had a personal studio teacher, but my grades always slipped when I got back to public school. There was too much to remember on my own, too many choices to make, too many opportunities for failure. Even recess felt daunting. I never would have admitted it, but I missed the strict rigor of a film set. Do what you’re told, and there’s no way you can fail.

Do what you’re told, and there’s no way you can fail.

Which is why theater school felt like a good balance. When I was onstage, or when I was writing, I felt free. But that freedom had come from tons of structure and preparation. It helped me become more responsible, and I even managed to get all As for the first time since grade school. But I wonder what I would have done if I hadn’t had that experience.

A few weeks ago, I was offered a part in a movie called 1973, also known as Roe v. Wade. It was written from a distinctly anti-abortion and anti-choice point of view, and was being produced and bankrolled by socially conservative activists. They wanted me to play famous feminist Betty Friedan, who was not portrayed in a flattering light—and was at the time, twenty years older than I am now. The script was poorly written, and the cast list seemed to me like a who’s who of former ‘80s and ‘90s stars.

Why were they sending this to me, I wondered? Yes, I was briefly moderately famous in the '90s, but I wasn’t searching for film work anymore. I haven’t considered myself anti-choice or politically conservative since I was about thirteen, and I have never been Christian. Then it hit me: Maybe they thought this script would change my mind.

When I first tweeted about this phenomenon, someone jokingly responded that maybe they had a rivalry with NXIVM, seeing who could recruit me first. I thought about sending a self-deprecating joke back in response, something like, “Of course not, I’m not as pretty as Emma Watson.” But maybe there was something similar there.

People expect actors who don’t act as much anymore to be lost. It’s a narrative they want to craft for us: that we are struggling and in need of guidance, that we have consciously turned away from Hollywood. If we’re struggling with mental illness and addiction, so much the better. They want to be the ones to show us the way. They want us to be their success story.

Allison spent ten years on the set of Smallville. She was a recognizable face, with a steady fanbase. She was probably used to being surrounded by a cast and crew that must have come to feel like family, for ten years. Perhaps, like me, she craved structure, validation, and to feel like she was a part of something. It in no way excuses what she has allegedly done, but it might explain it.

This is not to say I feel empathy for her. Especially since I suddenly remembered something about her this past week, which has raised a lot of questions for me: The two of us, along with a charity organization, had once hosted a Christmas party at a facility for young girls who had been sexually abused. It was where we had first met.

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